


Yahrzeit

by LuckyDiceKirby



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Homestuck Shipping World Cup 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 00:00:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1798111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyDiceKirby/pseuds/LuckyDiceKirby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Rose Lalonde. Today is John Egbert’s nineteenth birthday, and you are helping him celebrate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yahrzeit

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Homestuck Shipping World Cup Bonus Round 2, for the prompt [John/Rose, Yahrzeit (Yiddish): The one year anniversary of the death of a family member.](http://hs-worldcup.dreamwidth.org/19285.html?thread=4692821#cmt4692821)
> 
> I took this extremely literally and headcanoning John and Rose as Jewish, because I can. Quick notes for non-Jews: Traditionally, one lights a yahrzeit candle on the anniversary of a death, and it’s traditional not to shave for a week after the death of a family member.

Your name is Rose Lalonde. Today is John Egbert’s nineteenth birthday, and you are helping him celebrate.

“It’s funny,” you say, in the way that one says things that are not actually funny at all, “but my mother loved funerals, and she never even got to have one.”

Celebrating is not actually celebrating. John Egbert’s birthday is many things: it is the day that the world ended and the day that it was saved, and it also the day that his father and your mother died. 

“You know,” John says, “my dad hated funerals. He thought they were really over-sentimental. And he hated not being able to shave afterwards.” 

A candle sits on the coffee table in front of you both, flickering. John is curled up on the couch, knees tucked under his chin. You sit beside him, legs crossed and hand holding a glass of very cheap, very bad wine. 

It is your third glass.

“But he did it anyway?” you ask.

John shrugs, a short jerk of his shoulders. “Dad liked traditions and rituals. I mean, I think that’s kind of what his obsession with shaving was about in the first place.”

“I see,” you say. “I take it that this is where your sudden burst of religious fervor has come from? A need to please your deceased father?”

“Please don’t try to bullshit psychoanalyze me tonight, Rose,” John says, sounding very tired. “It’s just a candle. I think it’s nice.”

You sigh. “It is nice,” you say. “My mother would have liked it, too, although I don’t think she ever set foot in a synagogue in her life.”

“I definitely remember you telling me about your bat mitzvah.”

You can’t help but smile. “There were a few more wizards involved in that particular celebration than I think would be considered entirely traditional; it most certainly did not take place at a synagogue.”

“You made it sound like this really big annoying to-do,” John says.

“She made me write speeches, of course, even though the only people who got to hear them were stuffed animals and various representations of wizards.” You smile fondly at the memory, swirling your wine in your glass. Your mother had gotten one thing right, and had drunk an appropriately large amount of Manischewitz. She had cried on a wizard statue. You’d taken surreptitious pictures for black-mail, which of course you never actually used. “Also, I was just trying to wind you up in advance of your impending bar mitzvah.” 

John’s bar mitzvah had been scheduled for April 18th, 2009. You immediately regret mentioning it, but you have found that one of your greatest failings in life is your inability to stuff words back into your mouth. 

John doesn’t mention it, because unlike you, he is good at avoiding sad pitfalls in a conversation. “You wrote really ironically beautiful speeches, didn’t you?” he asks.

You laugh. “Of course I did, John.”

He turns to you and grins, big and genuine. “I bet your mom was really, really proud of you, Rose,” he says, meaning it.

Turning away from John, you glance at the candle still burning on the table. You say, “Yeah. I think she was.”


End file.
